I Don't Want to be a Hero - Ch. 8

Night Night

Harry did not have classes so he had to wait an awfully long time in the Gryffindor common room for his friends. He skimmed his textbooks but he lingered on his Potions textbook. He was drawn to the old ink drawings but the many recipes for all the potions he would be brewing in his first year at Hogwarts fascinated him. He marvelled that several potions held ingredients that were plants he recalled from a Primary School textbook that were listed as poisonous. It was at that point he opened the journal Professor Snape had given him, and he began to write down all the questions he wanted to ask the professor.

On the fifth question he paused recalling that Professor Snape had reminded him that in public they were to maintain an enmity between them. Harry could pretend to hate the teacher he had begun to have affection for. He was very good at pretending. Just as he had become very good at pretending he was nothing so his family did not see him when they did not want to.

Harry was honest with himself that having to keep such a secret -- that he liked Professor Snape -- bothered him. He wanted everyone to know that there was one adult that liked him just because he was HIM. He also did not quite understand the enmity between himself and Professor Snape. He heard the rumours in Gryffindor tower. Professor Snape was universally reviled as evil, a git, a snake, a vampire, and someone who eats children for fun. To Harry that just meant that students did not like the teacher it would not make him an enemy.

Letting out a sigh he began drawing instead of writing down his questions. He had the quill Professor Snape had given him during the brewing of his potion so there was no stopping to dip the quill into the inkwell.

His lines were sketchy, at first, a vague indication that something of substance was becoming ingrained upon the pages. As he continued Harry let his textbook drop the short distance from his lap to the floor in front of the low coffee table. The lines thickened, lengthened, and Harry was pleasantly lost in his drawing. From memory, and imagination, the drawing grew features that were at first questionable, and then resembled someone the young wizard knew; Harry was drawing himself sitting beside his teacher as they brewed his potion that afternoon.

"Hey, Harry!" both Hermione and Ron's voices chorused together. Hermione sat down on the worn sofa and lugged her bookbag up beside her. Ron dropped his bookbag on the floor, and plopped down beside his friend at the coffee table. Ron studied the drawing.

"That's good, Harry," Ron appreciated. "You got Snape right scary."

"Scary?" asked Harry a touch disappointed. He thought Professor Snape just looked serious; not scary.

Hermione leaned over to look at the drawing. "That's not scary, Ron, that's just thoughtful." She smiled at Harry and handed him a large bundle of notes -- for today.

"Thanks, Hermione," said Harry gratefully. He closed the journal and rolled out the notes Hermione had taken. She was like an encyclopedia when she took notes.

"Did you have fun brewing your potion with Professor Snape, Harry?" asked Hermione politely. Ron immediately snorted at anyone having fun brewing potions. Hermione glared at him.

"He really made it all make sense, Hermione," Harry replied simply.

Ron interrupted, "Snape won't let Hermione answer any questions in class and she knows everything!"

Harry looked up at Hermione who had opened a book and was now doing a very good imitation of not hearing them talk.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" asked Harry.

"Ron's right," she muttered. "And, I don't know why he keeps taking points from me."

"Yeah," agreed Ron unhelpfully, "Snape took 50 in total from 'Mione today."

Hermione's brow furrowed as she buried herself deeper into her textbook. She really was trying to read the paragraph on the connection between manifestation and visualisation in Transfiguration.

"50 points?" asked Harry with dismay. He stood resolutely. "I'll ask him about that."

Ron grabbed Harry's sleeve, "He'll just take more points if you bother him, Harry!"

Harry yanked his sleeve free from Ron's grasp. "I'm not going to bother him. Professor Snape told me I'd have to sleep in his quarters tonight. So, I can ask him." Harry strode away from his friends as they both stared at him.

Hermione kicked Ron with the toe of her black patent leather Mary Janes. 'Go stop him!' she mouthed as Ron rubbed his shoulder indignantly.

Ron suddenly understood Hermione so he pushed himself up, and rushed after his friend. Harry had stepped through the Gryffindor tower portrait door just minutes before Ron reached it. He pushed through, and followed after Harry.

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Harry went down to the dungeons, and promptly got lost. Knowing he should not wander and make things worse, he sat down, wrapped his robes tight about himself, curled up since it was chilly, and hoped someone would find him.

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Ron had his map. First years were always given a map that pointed out their classes and main areas of the castle: the Entrance Hall, the Great Hall, the four Houses, teachers offices, the Headmaster's tower, and the library. Each year the student would be given new maps to introduce new areas but no student had any map that showed every area of Hogwarts.

Ron studied his map, and then jogged down into the dungeons to Snape's office. He did not think Harry had gotten so far ahead of him, but he stuck to his path, and before he knew it he was standing in the torch lit area of the dungeon where the Potions Master's office was.

Trying the door, Ron found the door locked. A sign helpfully appeared in front of his eyes that showed Professor Snape's hours. In picque Ron smacked the sign and was startled when the sign smacked him in the side of the head, and faded away.

"Bloody sign," muttered Ron. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand to knock, and he squeaked as the door opened sharply to reveal the tall wizard who blended perfectly in the shadows but for slashes of white at his neck and cuffs, and the pale skin of his face and hands.

"Mr. Weasley, what are you seeking down in my dungeons?" asked the awfully tall teacher who did not look at all happy to be disturbed at this hour.

Ron had to crane his neck to look up at Professor Snape but he did not let the man's intimidating mien send him back to Gryffindor. "Professor Snape! Uhm... I came down to find Harry. He left Gryffindor tower and... seemed kind of upset, sir."

"And why, pray tell me, Mr. Weasley, would Mr. Potter venture down into an area he has no business being?" asked Professor Snape with barely controlled civility. He gave no sign that he himself was wondering where the wandering child was.

Ron huffed, and then blurted, "Harry said he was coming down here. So, is he here or not?" A second later he added, "Sir."

Professor Snape's eyes narrowed and his lip curled into a sneer at the redhead's attitude. Summoning his teaching robes, and throwing them over his shoulder he strode out of his office and into the corridor. Without a word to Ron he began his search. For a moment Ron stayed incredulously where he was then he broke into a jog that had him catch up to the decisive, whiptail figure of his teacher.

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Harry was seated on the cold floor of a corridor down in the dungeons, curled up tight against the cool air. It did not help. The chill had seeped into his bones, and he could swear his blood was freezing. The irrational imperative to get up, and wander, hit him very hard but Harry knew, deep down, that if he moved he had no idea where he was going and if anyone were searching for him they might never find him.

Pulling his robe collar over his head Harry buried himself as deep as he could in his robes. He thought again of Privet Drive #4. It was hardly an ideal place; his uncle yelled, his aunt would hit if he was not such a speedy boy, and Dudley always beat him up. He did not eat a lot, and he was worked to the bone, but he could honestly say that he never froze in his little cupboard beneath the stairs. Whatever Aunt Petunia thought of him, when she did think of her nephew, she washed his blankets and sheets, and pillow. He wore Dudley’s hand-me-downs but at least he had clothes.

No, it was not horrible, awful, or what-not but it was lonely, and here at Hogwarts, if anything he had made two friends; three if you counted Professor Snape. He was an adult, though, and a teacher, so maybe he could not be a friend.

Under cover of his robe Harry's eyes closed, and he breathed the warm air from his mouth onto his hands. Silently he prayed to whomever might be listening to lost little boys that he would be found before he became a popsicle.

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"Sir, I'm tired," complained Ron after an hour of half-jogging and half-running to keep up with the Potions Master. Ron stopped where he was (he thought they could have walked to New Zealand underground by now) and leaned against the wall.

Professor Snape stopped in mid-stride to glare at the whelp behind him. The glare was useless, though, because Ron was looking down at his shoes. He was either going to fall down, or go to sleep where he leaned against the wall. Snape did not care for the position he was in. He knew the dungeons were not safe to wander in, not even for his seasoned Slytherins. Yet, one Gryffindor was down her, definitely lost, and now his redheaded friend was about to give up.

Making his decision, Snape stepped firmly over to the child, picked him up, ignored the yelp he emitted, and cast a Feather-Light Charm on him as he settled the boy upon his hip.

"What are you doing, Snape?!" Ron wriggled and tried to slip out of the older man's grip but could not. Professor Snape had an iron grip!

"I made the mistake of not sending you directly back to Gryffindor tower, Mr. Weasley, thus I am saddled with you, and your erstwhile friend once we find him. When I do find him I shall take him back to my quarters and leave you behind under a Warming Charm. Then, I shall come back for you. In the meantime, I do not want to hear a sound from you. Is all of that clear, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron slumped but eyed his teacher's dark gaze in the flickering yet dim light of the torches in this corridor. He nodded, and said nothing. Professor Snape shifted the child, assured himself he was secure, and then continued his search.